


something fishy

by emmamay



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, LMAO WAIT he’s not richie’s big brother that sounded wrong, M/M, Minor Character Death, anxious af richie, eddie is a beautiful boyfriend and big brother, his eddie helps him through, richie has aspergers, richie is going through it, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmamay/pseuds/emmamay
Summary: richie’s hyper-anxious. eddie softens it all out with the help of his special little sister.





	something fishy

“Breakfast, Gramps?” Richie skids into the kitchen of the Tozier apartment in his mismatched socks, shaky digit fingers bouncing off his hips, eyes on his grandfather and then not and then again.

Gramps cocks his head in the direction of a half-eaten plate of dippy soldier toast and boiled egg at the little table by his knees and gives Richie a look.

 _Got it myself, you lazy shit._ He signs, hands moving aggressively, smile wide.

Richie cackles. Nervous eyes glance at the clock above the bookshelf in the corner of the browny-yellow room. 2:32 pm. “Whoops.” He pulls his lips into a lopsided grin, snagging a piece of toast for himself. If Gramps’ reflexes were as on the ball as they used to be he woulda thwacked it right outta Richie’s cheeky hand.

Rich knows his grandfather is thinking the same as he gives him the same look. The always look. The ‘This grandson of mine sure is a dipshit but I sure do love him.’

Gramps’ voice deteriorated after the throat cancer he first acquired when Richie was twelve. He’s seventeen now, a sign-language expert, and Gramps is finally cancer clear after a second spout just last year.

When Richie was six, he was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome. It explained the wander-y eyes and fidgety fingers and twitchy nostrils and, and, _and, and, everything_. Everything all at once, then sometimes nothing at all. Little Richie felt like a fishbowl was stuck right round his head, squeezing at his neck, tiny fishies poking in and out of every very much unwelcoming hole on his face. His parents felt the same way too, pre-diagnosis. But per doctor solidification, they could breathe again. 

Until they couldn’t. 

Until Richie was eight and in the back of some sorry Police car with two holes in his heart and every one in his face being bitten alive by all the bad fishies. He was prodded and poked and nudged and bitten with questions and sad affirmations from lousy ‘So your parents are dead’ pamphlets made up on the spot by old people with ugly nose hair and no mind for understanding the pain in this little boy’s head and heart. He was driven to the Police Station to Social Care under the wings of scary boss people he did not know, trembling and fidgeting and ticking away.

Gramps saved him, lifted him up above all the fishies and big people and into his nice, cool, but new apartment. Richie bobbed just underwater for a while. He didn’t like the change. He’d scratch at his egg speckle freckled arms and gnaw on his funny froggy lips and dart his eyes to and fro the picture frames of his parents on each of his bedside tables and cry, just a little, sometimes too. 

He grew into his space, it took time. Grew into an unabashed love for his grandfather, too. That part was a given. He had the same eyes as Richie’s Daddy, and a heart just as big as well. 

“The love in here’s gunna move mountains, Rocket.” Gramps said to him one Sunday afternoon, patting Richie’s chest. He was his Gramps’ Rocket Richie, and he too had that special, special heart. That was enough for him. 

Richie was filled with love. Sure, sometimes he was full of niggly, jiggly, little fishies too but he knew he was gonna pump ‘em out with every strong beat of his big Rocket heart. No matter how long it took.

_What’s wrong with that scrunchy face?_ Gramps signs to real-time Rocket Richie, his head visibly lost; up, up in the stars. 

He snaps back quickly, seemingly easy smile toying at his jittery lips. He sits on his hands, plops himself down at his grandfather’s feet. Beside the dippy toast. Gramps moves his table. 

“Nothin’, Gampy.” He lifts his head. Gramps furrows his brows. “I swear! Jus’ a little fishy, today. That’s all.” He shuffles off of his hands and raises them in surrender, cursing that magic man, always gettin’ it outta him.

Truly, Richie was submerged today. Fishbowl gobbling him up. Gramps always helps, but today - Wednesday - is his Sign Language Support Group. Basically, he sits around with other cool old Dudes and Bettys who too sign and they drink tea and shit. Richie has actually gone along a few times, when school has gotten a little bit much and it has coincidentally been the shaky middle day of the week. It is surprising chill as fuck, Richie enjoyed his tea and wooed the Grannies with his impressive signs. He kinda wants to go back. Not today though. 

As though reading his messy mind, Gramps shifts in his seat with a swiping finger ‘cross Richie’s brow. _Go see Toy-Boy._

Richie bows his head, looking up at his grandfather through his lashes and glasses, feigning annoyance. “Don’t you call him that.” He giggles a little, lays his head on the arm of Gramps’ chair. “Suppose you’re right, d’know what he’s doin’ though.”

It’s July third, mid Summer Vacation. Though he knows Eddie was visiting his Grandma in Cleveland last week and is home now, (he seen him Sunday) he doesn’t know his whole schedule. “I guess I’ll drop by, jus’ta see.” He kicks his legs out in front of him, bouncy knees bashing against the creaky wooden floorboards. “Gus comin’ to pick ya up?”

Gramps kicks the edge of the big red rug so it sits snuggly under Richie’s knees, safe from the hardwood. _Yes. He’ll be here at three. Go see Eddie and I’ll finish my toast undisturbed._

Richie gawks, knees crack as he pounces up, hand ruffling his Gramps’ little old man hat around on his head. Richie loves that hat. He kisses it once, swiftly, before diving down to snatch a piece of toast, slipping over to the corner of the room to grab his backpack and squish into his sneakers.

Gramps sports a middle finger. No Sign Language needed to get that one. Richie chuckles, blowing him a big kiss. Some universally understood terms of endearment exhibited in the Tozier flat.

 _Wait._ He signs as Richie’s tattered sweater sleeves brush the door handle, fingers tapping the wood. His bushy hair flies round to face his dear Gampy Gramps. _Breathe, Rocket. You’re not drowning, fishies ain’t gotcha just yet._

Richie smiles, nicely and softly and _calmly_. He leaves the apartment.

“Hey, smelly. Give it!” Eddie laughs with his pokey-out tongue, his grabby hands clawing out for the glue-stick his little sister just whipped right from his grip.

“You’re the smelly!” Cosy squeals a giggle. She’s six and full of fairy-pixie, sparkly wonder. There’s shimmery glitter on her pink paper, in her big blue eyes and wrapped all tight round her heart. 

She’s one of Eddie’s two most favourite people in the world.

“Whatcha gonna colour, Ed?” She asks, tiny fingers tucking her blondey-brown bangs flush against the back of her freshly pierced ears. She eyes the different Crayolas in her pot, flicks through the different coloured shades of paper too.

“What d’you think I should, Cosy Pie?” He leans his head on both of his palms, watching her doe eyes widen even more. She hands him a fresh white sheet and tips the pot of pens, a rainbow now adorning the dining room table. 

“Something that makes you happy, or how you’re feelin’.” She seems to ponder aloud, nodding in agreement at her own statement. Just as she grabs herself a yellow and Eddie a pink, the doorbell sounds. “Oh, I’ll get it!” 

Her flowery socks skid along the tiles and Eddie listens to the sound of the front door opening and Cosy’s excited gasp before the familiar charming ringing of, “Hey, Little Mighty!” His back straightens in his seat, excited grin on his own face very probably mirroring his little sister’s.

“‘Chee!” Eddie smiles as Richie enters the dining room, wearing his backpack and a soft smile. Cosy has already rushed back to her seat, grabbing at her previously drawn pictures.

“Eddie Spaghetti, Cosettie Spaghettie.” Richie nods at either Kaspbrak sibling respectively, cheekily smiling as he sits down in the middle of Eddie and Cosy. 

Cosette giggles wildly, yanking on Richie’s sweater sleeved arm to _ooh_ and _ahh_ over her artwork. As he does a great job at such, Cosy wraps her fingers round his wrist, toying at his sleeve and crackly knuckles and knobbly elbow. Eddie watches adoringly. Cosy is fidgety and clingy with the people she is closest to, and she reminds him just slightly of Richie in this sense.

When Cosy turns away from Richie a little to begin drawing another, a house, seemingly, Eddie eyes Richie gingerly. His eyes are a little all over, they’re on Cosy then the kitchen clock then his fingernails then Eddie’s lap and back again. He moves to sit on his hands and Eddie catches them shaking, watches Richie’s knee bounce around under the table. He reaches a hand out to touch his boyfriend’s pink, freckly cheek, stroking his thumb back and forth.

“ _Wichie_ , we’re drawin’ pictures of how we feel and our favourite things ‘n’ stuff.” 

Eddie and Richie chuckle, Cosy still ain’t got those R’s down. It is the single sweetest thing. Yet she somehow manages to smile even sweeter, handing Richie the pen pot and gifting him a little kiss on his fingers as he pokes at her cheek.

“Thank you, Little Mighty.” Richie winks at her and seizes a navy washable, scribbling all over his page. He grabs Eddie’s hand, each of them rubbing circles on the others’. Eddie takes a brown pen.

He starts to draw a pair of big chocolate eyes with his bad hand since Richie’s got his other. He uses that pink Cosy gave him for little lines of blush just underneath and takes a yellow to draw some shiny stars round the edge of his page. That’s what makes Eddie happy. 

The three sit in a comfortable conversation silence for a short while, the only sound the radio humming a soft buzz in the background and the occasional kiss pressed to Richie and Eddie’s intertwined hands from either one of them.

“Looky, boys!” Cosy pipes up to mark the end of their quiet moments, sporting spots of marker on her hands and cheeks. “It’s what makes me happy. It’s my family.’ She beams.

The picture, titled ever so adorably; ‘My Famlee’, shows a big blue house - the Kaspbrak house, and a group of people and a cat stood on the flower sprinkled grass outside. “Here’s Momma, Daddy, Eddie ‘n’ _Wichie_ and me and Sugar!” Cosy explains. Eddie melts. Richie squeezes his hand.

Eddie knows, and it goes unspoken, how much it means to Richie, the mass in which little Cosette values him. Richie missed out on that big American family life. He’s got his Grandpa, but his head can get a little messy and mismatched, and Eddie knows that it sometimes still upsets him. 

“That’s beautiful, Cosy Belle.” (Cosette Isabella) “We’ll put it on the refrigerator, m’kay?” Eddie grins, jumps round, up from his seat to squeeze kisses into her temple. Upon briefly breaking hands with his Richie, he soon finds him once again, resting his own head atop of his boyfriend’s, hands on his broad, shaky shoulders.

“What’d you draw, ‘Chee?” He murmurs into Richie’s chocolatey curls, one hand lifting up to card through ‘em.

Richie hums. Eddie tilts his head to give the paper a good look. 

“Nice fish, _Wichie_. I like ‘em a lot.” 

Eddie looks over to give Cosy a soft, sad smile. He presses a few firm kisses into Richie’s hair, eyes closed. Richie mutters Cosy a tired but sweet thank you. 

His page is covered in blue fish, all different colours and shades, all making Eddie’s heart hurt as much as the last. There’s a red rocket in the middle of the page, seemingly setting fire to the fish in its radius. “I think Richie and I are going to go upstairs, Cosy Pie. Is that okay? Richie ain’t feeling too good.” 

“Yeah sure, Ed, okay.” Cosy rises from her seat and saunters over to the two boys, laying her head on Richie’s other shoulder briefly. Eddie kisses her cheek, tucks those fluffy fallen bangs back behind her ears.

“Momma’s just in the living room, yeah? Call her if you need her.” Eddie says, assuring hand on Richie’s back, other rubbing under his eyes for him as he stands up all droopy.

When they’re upstairs Rich plops onto Eddie’s bed, lain beside the Kaspbraks’ tiny, tubby, tabby cat, Sugar. Eddie slides over and lays flush atop his boyfriend’s chest. His fingers spiral round his twisty curls, eyes never straying from Richie’s.

Eddie used to get uncomfortable about lying right on top of Richie, thinking he’d squash him like a sweet, sad strawberry. But Richie insisted, it makes him feel more grounded, like with Eddie as his buoy (and boy, unquestionably, of course) he won’t float away. 

“It bad, sweetheart?” He purrs, softly stroking his fingers round the edge of Richie’s face. “Got your fish bowl on?” He rubs his thumb over Richie’s bottom lip, met with a gentle, agreeing hum and a wobbly nod of the head.

Eddie kisses Richie’s nose. His Cupid’s bow. Either cheek, every freckle. A thousand times. He smooths down his bushy eyebrows, pushes back his messy mop hair. “That’s okay. That’s okay, Richie.”

Richie’s arms tighten round Eddie’s little waist, his big hands splaying out across the plain of his back. “M’sorry, Spaghetti.” His head digs into Eddie’s neck.

“Hey,” Eddie clutches his chin, lifting his sad, sweet, squishy face back up to look at him. “You don’t have anything at all to be sorry about.” His thumbs brush over Richie’s cheeks. Over and over. Back and forth. Like windshield wipers. Wiping all those pesky little fishies away.

“I’m just sicka the fish, Eds.” Richie’s biting his bottom lip, then the top. Eddie’s thumbs travel down to pull them free of his teeth. Richie’s brows are furrowed as though he’s got a bad migraine. Eddie thinks he just might. This hurts his poor precious curly head so bad.

“I know you are, ‘Chee. I know.” Is all Eddie can say. ‘Cause he does know, and he feels catastrophically terrible. His poor baby. But there’s nothing to do about it. He can’t drown the fish, it isn’t possible. All he can try is to make sure his Richie doesn’t float away.

They lay for a while, Richie’s head tucked into the feathers of the pillow, Eddie’s on his chest. Eddie untangling Rich’s fidgety digits. “Richie, Richie baby, oh how I love you so.” He begins to murmur a little singsong. He feels Richie’s smile on his head so keeps going. “Lips as sweet as sugar, gotta spicy attitude though.” He giggles. Then more so when Sugar the kitty perks his head up. 

“Sometimes the fishies wanna swim you away but I ain’t gonna let them, not today.” Eddie’s voice floats between a whisper and a light, quiet murmur. His voice is high pitched and his fingers tap against Richie’s chest. “‘Cause you’re my Richie baby, so beautiful and so clever.” He gives Richie an Eskimo kiss, noses rubbing all nice and lovely, then flutters his eyelashes quickly against Rich’s cheekbones like he knows he likes.

“And I ain’t letting them fishies get ya,” His breath fans over Richie’s lips. He kisses him once. “Not now and not ever.” Richie pulls him even tighter, breathes him in in all that ethereally adorable gorgeous Eddie glory. Eddie smiles against his lips and Richie smiles too.

“I love you so, Eddie K.” One a those big Richie hands cradles Eddie’s head and they both know everything’s gonna be okay. Richie’s eyes are settled now (specifically on his special Eddie) and fingers are calm on the nape of Eddie’s giddy goosebump ridden neck. 

“And I love you.” He kisses him. “And that special, special heart.” His gentle finger pokes just at it. “Those fish are pesky and quick, Rich.” He shrugs, hands holding the boy below’s pretty face. “And maybe they’re always gonna be there,” He chews his lip, “But so am I.”

**_Richie (Momma helped me spell it) <3_ **

**_I hope you r feelin good agen soon. I hope Eddie makes you feel bettr. I love you so much jus a little less than Eddie dos bcoz he is IN love with you but still a lot :)_ **

**_Hope you feel bettr, gonna giv you a BIG HUG soon. Love you, Cosy your Little Mytee xxx_ **

Richie’s special letter from Cosette reads. 

Slid under Eddie’s door covered in glitter glue and hearts and tucked lovingly away in a pretty pink envelope.

He almost cries, just a little. The fish swim away, bowl loosens it’s grip around his neck, he breathes again. Aware it’s only a matter of time before they will reappear, he shrugs. He’s got his Eddie, got his Cosy, got his Gramps. They ain’t gonna let him slip away and drown anytime soon. He won’t let himself either. 

Some days are bad, so so bad. Some days he wants to scream but chokes on the dirty water. Wants to tear his seaweed hair out. But others are lovely, and sparkly and wonderful and although they may begin underwater, end up in the fluffy clouds between two rainbows, flying with special fluttery, hopeful pixies like Eddie and Cosy Kaspbrak and his magic, magic Gampy. 

Sometimes Richie is floating. Sometimes in the water. Sometimes in the sky. But always in his special Rocket heart. And that’s okay with him.

**Author's Note:**

> little disclaimer: i’m aware this is a sensitive topic to broach and can only hope i didn’t offend anyone as i desperately tried not to! with that being said autism/aspergers are spectrum disorders and no two diagnosed people are alike. i based richie’s traits on my own experience with aspergers through my younger brother. he is the mightiest (not so) little (anymore) tike who truly amazes me everyday. with THAT being said tho i loved writing this and i hope u enjoyed! <3


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